


Cry Uncle

by julianne_invain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 15:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11129460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julianne_invain/pseuds/julianne_invain
Summary: Used to be, he could solve any problem with his fists and a little bit of nerve.





	Cry Uncle

He's twelve-years-old, and his skinny kid limbs lash out wildly, taking out the legs of Sarah Rogers' dining chairs, sending them crashing to the floor with all the drama of collapsing buildings. This is their drama, their great war, and Bucky doesn't remember what sparked the impromptu wrestling match in the first place, but judging by the burst of victory he feels when he twists Steve's arm behind his back and hears him squeak out a pained "uncle!", it must have been something incredibly important.  
They are both underfed, scrawny, small, and -as they lie side-by-side on the kitchen floor, panting and still angry- they are equal.

He's seventeen years old, and has grown into the number well. Compact but lean, tall but not ungainly, big broad shoulders with an ego to match. The sidewalk is changing position beneath his feet like images in a kaleidoscope, and he weaves in a zigzag pattern, every so often ramming drunkenly into Steve like a dumb bull. The blonde stumbles and spits with indignation. "Fucking touch me again Barnes and I'll kick your ass clear to Manhattan." His words slur together, he's nowhere near as far-gone as Bucky, but he's far enough.  
Bucky guffaws, ugly and loud, and hits him again, on purpose this time. "What's that, little guy?"  
"I said I'm'a _kick your ass_.” Steve shoves back and Bucky, on a drunk, delirious impulse, sucker-punches his friend right in the face.  
"Oh shit."   
Steve is hunched over, trying and and failing to stem the flow of dark, syrupy blood from his nose. It runs into his mouth and drips from his chin like a gory goatee.   
Bucky stares and swears again. "Fuck. Sorry. Did I break your nose?” Steve spits a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the pavement and mumbles a mostly incoherent response. Bucky's pretty sure he heard “dumbass" somewhere.

He's twenty years old, and someone's screaming at him to stop. Fingers tighten around the collar of his coat, jerk him back. They're telling him it's time to give up. They're saying stand down, stand down.   
The back of a man's head as he waves a dirty handkerchief. It used to be white but it's hard to tell now. They can't even get surrendering right.  
He looks around him, desperately searching the faces of his comrades. They only read resignation. As the enemy line advances through the trees with guns raises, barrels level with Bucky's brain, he still is not resigned.

He's twenty years old, and he thrashes against the restraints and curses at the Germans. He wants so badly to beg, to plead for them to stop, but James Buchanan Barnes does not cry uncle. 

He doesn't know how old he is.  
They scuffle briefly on the ground. The other man is compact and strong, but slow, and the Winter Soldier has him pinned in seconds.

_He's twelve years old, covered in dirt and dust from wrestling on the unswept floor-_

He feels a flush of pride. His mission is about to be completed. He will do well.

_-He feels a flush of pride. Steve says "uncle!", voice tight with pain. He releases the other boy immediately and they scramble away from each other like roaches caught in the lamplight._

"No, please," the man moans, but the Winter Soldier does not listen. He quickly and effectively pushes a metal digit into each of the man's eye sockets. Something dark and syrupy gushes out.

_He's seventeen years old and his shirt cuffs are stained dark from where he blotted gently at his best friend's crushed nose._

Back at Hydra, they are gentle when they clean the congealed blood from under the plates of his metal fingers. They tell him he has done good. He is so relieved he hardly notices when someone slips the hard plastic guard between his teeth.

He does not know how old he is.

He does not know how old he is and he is slamming his fist again and again into Captain America's face. As he goes, it becomes softer, more pliable; like punching a lump of clay.

_He's seventeen and he's never been this drunk._

He does not know how old he is, but what really confuses him is that Captain America has stopped fighting back. 

_He's seventeen and he hits Steve Rogers._  
He must be a hundred by now, and he hits Captain America.

"Till the end of the line," someone says, and the Winter Soldier hears a woman scolding him for knocking down all her dining room chairs, and remembers that woman's funeral.  
"Till the end of the line," Steve says, and the Winter Soldier is marching onto an army base and grins conspiratorially at the man marching beside him.

Bucky Barnes stops fighting, and he is entirely too many years old.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very short piece, I know! I'm just trying to practice posting and get comfortable with the site.


End file.
